


you find shelter somewhere in me

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Bathing/Washing, Dom/sub, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Kneeling, Light BDSM, M/M, Mutual Pining, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-12 23:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: Foggy leans against him, taking a long sip before he says, “Can I tell you something?”“Of course,” Matt says.“I like it,” Foggy says, dropping his voice low, turning his head towards Matt so he’s talking close to his ear. “I—I like you telling me what to do.”





	you find shelter somewhere in me

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FIC ALMOST KILLED ME BECAUSE I'M TERRIBLE AT DEADLINES.
> 
> Thanks to mific for the wonderful artwork (check out [their other artwork on Tumblr](https://mific.tumblr.com)!) and to everybody who helped me last minute edit everything.

* * *

**Law School**

* * *

 

Three days into studying for an exam and Foggy says, suddenly shoving his laptop away from him and lurching to his feet, “I can’t—I can’t do this, I can’t do this— _Matt_.”

“Whoa,” Matt says, taking his earbuds out. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice Foggy’s heart, but it’s all he can hear now, racing like crazy. “What’s happening?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Foggy says, like he can’t catch his breath. “I don’t know anything, like, _literally anything_ , and—I—”

“Hey, no,” Matt says, standing up to put a hand on Foggy’s arm, feeling him shaking before he pulls him into a tight hug. Foggy doesn’t hug him back until Matt says, warmly, “Come on, give in, you know it’ll help.”

Foggy’s mentioned the curative property of hugs a lot—especially hugs from Matt. Now, he finally wraps his arms around Matt and buries his face in his shoulder, taking deep shuddering breaths. Matt smooths a hand over his hair and Foggy makes a low, upset noise.

“I can’t do this,” he mumbles, again. Normally, Foggy will get this way before a test, but he’ll mostly be joking, a little too stressed out underneath it. This seems different, though; he’s both too stiff and shaking in Matt’s arms, like his muscles are tight. Matt can practically hear his body straining.

“Bullshit,” Matt says. “You’ll do fine. You always do.”

“No, I’ve been holding on by a _thread_ for—for a while,” Foggy says, at least sounding a little more with it when Matt tightens his hold and presses a firm hand to the back of Foggy’s head, giving him permission to stay there. “I’ve been trying to be cool about it, but I’m not cool at all, Matt, I’m not, and everything’s _falling apart_ —”

Foggy draws off with a wet gasp—he’s not crying yet but Matt thinks that he might start soon, because Foggy’s breathing in short, hitched gulps of air.

“How long have you felt like this?” he asks.

“All semester,” Foggy says, tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Matt asks, trying not to sound upset, too. “You tell me everything.”

“It’s _embarrassing_ ,” Foggy says. “I mean, god, I can’t even take a test without crying in my roommate’s arms—thanks, by the way, you don’t have to do this but it’s _really_ nice. You have a very—comforting presence.”

“Come on,” Matt says, letting go of Foggy just enough to bring him over to Matt’s bed and sit him down, pulling him back in afterwards and resting his cheek against the top of his head. It feels almost exploitative, because he doesn’t always get a chance to just—touch Foggy like this. To touch anyone like this, really.

They let a silence stretch out that’s just the sounds Foggy’s body is making as he tries to get himself under control, the sound of Matt trying to breathe calm and deep so Foggy can feel it where their bodies are touching, until Foggy finally says, “Sometimes, I don’t feel like I should even be here.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Matt repeats, emphatically, laughing. “You’re amazing. And, look, you can’t leave me here alone, I’ll _definitely_ fall into an open manhole without you.”

There’s a small huff of air that Matt thinks is a laugh.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Foggy says, so quiet, barely sounding like himself. “I wish somebody would tell me how to—just be a _person_ —so I didn’t have to think about it so hard.”

Matt rubs his back for a few moments before he says, “I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah?” Foggy asks, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” Matt says, sounding more confident than he feels. “I mean, I don’t know what I’m doing _most_ of the time—but I can try. If it’ll help you.”

Foggy squirms in his arms, pulling back enough that Matt can tell that he’s looking at him.

“What do I do next?” he asks, voice caught somewhere distinctly weird.

Matt smiles at him and swallows down all of his own finals week stress. They’ve studied their asses off, and they’re not going to be able to retain any more information anyway. This is for the greater good.

“We’re going to get ice cream,” he says. “Put some real clothes on.”

*

They get ice cream and sit at opposite sides of a tiny table in the corner of the shop, their knees bumping together every time one of them moves. It takes some cajoling, but eventually Matt can hear in Foggy’s voice that he’s smiling, and knowing that he can do that for him stirs something warm and peaceful inside of him.

“You’re going to go to sleep,” Matt says.

“Right here?” Foggy asks. “That might be difficult.”

“No,” Matt says, rolling his eyes. “I’m taking you home, and you’re going to put all four thousand of your index cards away and get eight hours of sleep.”

“That sounds insane,” Foggy says. “I hope you know how insane that sounds.”

“You’re going to do it, though,” Matt says. Foggy’s heart speeds up just enough for Matt to notice, and he moves in his seat so his knee presses up against Matt’s firmly.

“I’ll do it,” he says.

*

When they’re back in the dorm, Foggy immediately changes out of his clothes and puts all of his notes and books on his desk before he crawls into bed.

“Good,” Matt says, and Foggy just makes a soft noise.

“You’re going to sleep, too, right?” he asks, after Matt listens to him moving around and trying to get comfortable, terrible college-issued mattress protesting underneath him.

“Oh, god, no,” Matt says, immediately. “I have to study.”

Foggy’s ensuing silence is horrified until Matt turns his head to smile so Foggy can see him and Foggy chokes on a laugh, saying, “You’re _such_ an asshole.”

Matt gets ready to sleep, too, and as soon as he lies down, he hears Foggy start to nod off, like he was waiting for him. In the morning, he’s going to wake him up early before his first exam and make him eat breakfast and he’s already looking forward to the anguished noises that Foggy’s going to make at him.

*

They don’t talk about it again, but Matt orders Foggy around for the rest of the week, telling him when to sleep and eat and how long he’s allowed to study before he has to take a break. Foggy does everything so quickly and willingly that it makes Matt feel—maybe powerful is too dramatic a word.

Needed. He definitely feels _needed_ , and he’s not sure that he’s ever felt that before.

After their last exam, Foggy collapses on Matt’s bed next to him, so they’re lying on their backs with their sides shoved together, “What now?”

“. . .booze,” Matt says. “Lots of it.”

“Is that a responsible adult decision?” Foggy asks. “Because you’re supposed to be making those for me.”

“It’s definitely adult,” Matt says, smirking at the ceiling before he turns it towards Foggy. “Not sure about responsible.”

“Fair enough,” Foggy says, turning his head to yawn against Matt’s shoulder. “Just give me a sec here to—get hyped up—”

“Mmm hmm,” Matt says, shutting his eyes.

When he wakes up later, sometime in the middle of the night, he’s managed to basically crawl on top of Foggy—an arm slung over his chest and a leg curved between his, his head resting on Foggy’s chest.

He should probably wake Foggy up so he can go sleep in his own bed, but he’s really comfortable and Foggy’s sleeping pretty deeply. They both deserve to rest.

*

“Don’t have more than one cup of eggnog,” Matt says, two weeks later, after Christmas dinner with a whole overwhelming horde of Nelsons. “It’s like 95% rum.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, immediately, sounding a little surprised.

“. . .sorry,” Matt says, shaking his head, surprised at himself, too. “You can do what you want, I just got used to. . .”

“Bossing me around?” Foggy asks.

“Yeah,” Matt says, laughing softly. “Sorry.”

Foggy leans against him, taking a long sip before he says, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” Matt says.

“I like it,” Foggy says, dropping his voice low, turning his head towards Matt so he’s talking close to his ear. “I—I _like_ you telling me what to do.”

Foggy’s breath against his cheek stirs something in Matt that’s a little scary—something he’s been trying to ignore since they started this, like he wants to do things to Foggy that neither of them can take back. Like he wants to get Foggy on his _knees_. Matt’s never felt anything like that before, really, especially not for another guy.

“I could—keep doing it,” he says, hesitating before he drops a hand on Foggy’s knee, squeezing it lightly before letting it go, worried about the cabal of Nelsons sitting in the room with them and what they might think. “If that would make you happy.”

“It would,” Foggy says, after a moment, like he’s not sure if he should say it. “I feel _super_ weird about it, just for what it’s worth, but not enough to stop.”

Matt smiles without turning his head to Foggy, says, softly, “I’m going to excuse myself and go to your room. Come whenever you’re done.”

He gets up before Foggy can say anything else, says goodnight to Foggy’s parents and faces a barrage of cheek kisses from grandmothers and cousins before he makes his way upstairs. Foggy’s bedroom smells dusty and like someone tried to cover the scent with cheap air freshener, but Matt barely notices, body thrumming with anticipation even though he doesn’t even have a plan here.

He goes through his duffel bag to find soft sweatpants, a t-shirt that he stole from Foggy sometime during freshman year. Foggy made fun of him for awhile but never asked for it back. After he changes, he climbs up onto Foggy’s bed and settles down—the mattress is worn and comfortable, squeaks softly on old springs underneath his weight.

Downstairs, he can hear Foggy fake a yawn and tell everyone he’s calling it a night, and he’s smiling when Foggy steps inside and shuts the door behind him.

“Tell me what to do,” he says, immediately, and Matt smiles wider, still feeling a little loose from the egg nog.

“Get into something comfortable,” he says, and Foggy makes an agreeable noise and digs through his bag.

After Foggy’s done changing, he stands in front of Matt, shifting on his feet.

“Lie down,” Matt says. “Head in my lap.”

“Drunk Foggy’s favorite place,” Foggy says, joining Matt on the bed and curling up on his side, laying his head in Matt’s lap and letting out a soft sigh when Matt rests a hand on it.

“Do you have any other Christmas stories?” Matt asks. Foggy’s family spent a full hour swapping them, and it hurt Matt just a little bit, somewhere deep inside. It was nice to know what Foggy came from, though, all that warmth and love. It made him make a little more sense.

“Oh, probably,” Foggy says. “What about a Murdock family story, though?”

Matt smiles and tries not to make it sad.

“Just a lot of religion and related suffering,” he says, stroking Foggy’s hair, which normally makes drunk Foggy practically purr. Now, Foggy just squirms in his lap to give him better access and yawns softly against Matt’s knee. “I’d rather hear yours.”

“Alright, let me tell you about the year I found out Santa wasn’t real,” Foggy says, “and almost immediately descended into nihilism.”

“How old were you?” Matt asks, laughing.

“Five,” Foggy says. “Trust me, I’ve never been the same.”

That night, Matt decides when they go to sleep, and he doesn’t think twice when Foggy says they can share his bed so Matt doesn’t have to deal with his moth-eaten sleeping bag. They lay side by side until Foggy murmurs, softly, “Fuck it,” and turns enough to throw an arm over Matt and rest his cheek on his chest.

Matt laughs and pulls him closer.

“Feel free to include friendly cuddling in—whatever the hell we’re doing,” Foggy says.

“Noted,” Matt murmurs, yawning against Foggy’s hair. “Go to sleep.”

*

They don’t do it all the time, at first—after they start the next semester, Foggy will just tell him when he needs it. They’ll go weeks without it happening, but Foggy always sounds kind of desperate when he brings it up, like he’s been holding back.

“I want you to do what I say,” Matt says, after a two-week span of listening to Foggy steadily getting uncomfortable, strained. “For the whole weekend.”

Foggy’s heart hammers.

“Okay,” he says, hesitantly.

“Come here,” Matt says, reaching out a hand, and Foggy joins him on his bed and lets Matt pull him into his arms and tuck Foggy’s head under his chin. It takes awhile for Foggy’s pulse to settle down again, and Matt wonders if that’s the surprise or if it has something to do with how close they are right now.

They stay like that until Foggy murmurs, heavily, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” Matt says. “I want to do this.”

“You do?” Foggy asks.

Matt doesn’t have a good reason for wanting this, not like Foggy does. He just knows that Foggy following his orders, Foggy being sweet and funny and obedient, makes him feel strong and, also, gives him _butterflies_.

“I like making you feel good,” he says, eventually. “That’s what I’m doing, right?”

“Mmm hmm,” Foggy says, nuzzling into Matt’s neck. “Really good.”

Matt holds him tighter.

“You should nap,” he says, definitively.

“Will you stay with me?” Foggy asks, lips brushing Matt’s skin.

“Sure,” Matt says, happily.

*

Somewhere between the feeling he gets when he tells Foggy what to do and the feeling he gets when he wakes up all tangled up in Foggy, Matt comes to the conclusion that he’s not exactly straight. Whatever that means—he’s never felt like this with anyone, girls included. Just being in the same room with Foggy makes him feel—better, maybe, but it also leaves him jerking himself off in the middle of the night while thinking about Foggy on his knees and in his bed.

He’s planning on keeping that to himself, but Foggy doesn’t make it easy. They’ve both started touching each other more; Matt will keep his arm around Foggy whenever they’re sitting close and Foggy will play with Matt’s fingers when he’s antsy in class and there’s. Some kissing.

They definitely haven’t talked about the kissing, but Matt’s stopped resisting the urge to kiss Foggy’s hair and his temple and listen to the way that Foggy’s heart always responds to the touch.

Matt plans to keep his feelings to himself (especially plans to keep his _urges_ to himself, because he doesn’t want to scare Foggy away forever just because he loses himself occasionally fantasizing about tying him up and fucking him) but—Foggy doesn’t make it _easy_.

*

“Can I—” Foggy starts, hesitantly, one day while he’s lying in Matt’s bed with his head resting in Matt’s lap.

“Finish your sentence,” Matt says, tapping him lightly on the forehead when Foggy stumbles over a word and gets quiet, like he regrets talking.

“It’s weird,” he says. “Like, I want it and sorry in advance, but it’s _weird_.”

Matt doesn’t say anything, waits patiently until Foggy shifts to press his face against Matt’s thigh, just breathing deep for a few moments until he’s ready to talk.

“I want you to punish me,” he says. Matt blinks, tries to form coherent thoughts around that phrase, and Foggy immediately groans and says, “See, I told you, it’s weird. You can forget about it.”

“Shh,” Matt says, reaching down to brush Foggy’s cheek with his hand before pressing fingers gently to his mouth. “Tell me what you mean.”

Foggy kisses Matt’s fingers before he moves them, sitting up so that he can look at Matt’s face, probably, no longer touching him at all. Easy access to run, too; Matt had no idea that Foggy, who’s always been so open, could be this skittish. Feeling it on him occasionally has been strange but not bad. Because he always stays. He never _wants_ to leave.

“So, you know how my brain is, like, a shitshow sometimes, right?” Foggy says, then continues immediately after Matt smiles and nods, seriously. “Well, I don’t take making mistakes very well. And I think—maybe if you would punish me, I wouldn’t be so hard on myself.”

“And you really want this?” Matt asks.

“I do,” Foggy says, quickly. “I promise. And—it doesn’t have to be painful, if you don’t want, but I wouldn’t— _not_ enjoy that.”

“Okay,” Matt says, laughing. “I can work with that.”

“You can do whatever you want, though,” Foggy adds, then, softer, “That might be better, actually. You picking it.”

“Me specifically?” Matt asks, smiling wider.

“No,” Foggy says, sarcastically. “I’d just let any random person off the street spank me.”

Matt goes quiet. Foggy goes quiet. It’s either hushed shock on both of their parts or both of them refusing to be the next one to speak, because what do they say; Matt doesn’t know if spanking fits inside the ambiguous unspoken rules where neither of them get off on this. Well, get off on this together. Matt knows that Foggy sometimes has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom a lot and Matt’s been taking really long showers and he’s still trying not to think about Foggy sitting on his dick. It seems like it might, but maybe not if they keep their clothes on?

Matt figures, as the person that’s been making most of the decisions lately, he should probably be the one to decide what happens next. He’s going to let Foggy tell him it was just a joke, but then his brain supplies, instead, “Bend over the end of the bed.”

“Really?” Foggy asks.

“Do you want it?” Matt asks.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, after a beat, getting up to lean over the footboard. It’s probably pressed uncomfortably into his stomach; Matt runs a hand down the line of his back to feel exactly where he’s lying, leaving it resting on the curve of his ass as he steps around to stand behind him. Everything is the taste of nervous sweat in the air and Foggy’s heartbeat and the way he lifts his hips up, just enough to push up into Matt’s touch.

“Fair warning, I’ve never done this before,” Matt says, rubbing a slow circle that makes Foggy shudder.

“I haven’t either,” Foggy admits, voice muffled like he’s pressing it into the sheets. “I can take it, though.”

“I know you can,” Matt says, means it as a compliment and can practically feel Foggy smiling, a burst of shocked laughter when Matt squeezes where he was moving his palm gently. He can tell that they’re both unsure, but he’s been pretty good about pushing past that and giving Foggy what he needs. Or what Matt thinks he needs.

The first time Matt hits him, it’s _hard_ , not as hard as he could but hard enough that there’s a loud _crack_ in the room and Foggy pushes away from it with a strangled cry.

“More?” Matt asks.

“Uh huh,” Foggy says, like he can’t catch his breath, hands fisting in the sheets. “More.”

“More what?”

“ _Please_ ,” Foggy says, emphatically, just this side of eye-rolling. “More, please.”

The next hit’s softer, and he varies the next few so Foggy doesn’t know what to expect, just gasps and whimpers and grunts and _takes it_. Matt can smell how turned on Foggy is and has no idea what to do about it, especially when he’s straining his own sweatpants. Foggy’ll definitely see it, when this is over.

He spanks Foggy until Foggy can’t say words anymore, sparing a moment to squeeze his own erection through his sweatpants before he says, “Get up.”

Foggy raises himself up shakily, the mattress squeaking as he leverages himself up with his hands—quickly going to rub at the spot low on his stomach where the footboard cut into him. He starts to say something, a quick inhale, and Matt can basically pinpoint the moment that Foggy sees how hard he is for this.

He doesn’t say anything, though, and Matt doesn’t either. Foggy steps forward and falls into a hug, tight and close, and Matt holds him until Foggy coughs and says, “Uhm, I think I’m going to run to the bathroom,” and makes it for the door as soon as Matt lets go of him.

So, that’s that.

Matt sits down to try to study and only succeeds in sprawling across his bed and shoving his hand down his pants to jerk off quickly to the sound of Foggy doing the same thing at the other end of the hall.

*

“So, Marci asked me out,” Foggy says, lightly, when he sits down next to Matt in the dining hall.

“Oh,” Matt says, after a second, feeling kind of like he’s been punched in the gut. “You’re—you’re into her, right?”

“Kind of,” Foggy says.

“Did you say yes?” Matt asks, clenching his fists in his lap, faking a smile.

“I stalled,” Foggy says, laughing. “I told her I’d talk to her later.”

“Why?” Matt asks.

“Uhm, I—I wanted to talk to you first,” Foggy says, hesitantly. “See what you thought about it.”

Matt’s having a hard time keeping his face calm when he says, “If you like her, you should go for it, right?”

“Oh,” Foggy says. “Really?”

“It’s not like there’s anything stopping you.”

Matt won’t stop him from doing something that will make him happy, even if he wants to be the one to do that. If Foggy really wanted him like that, he would have said something by now. He wouldn’t run off every time Matt turned him on.

“Okay,” Foggy says. His voice is tight and weird, and Matt has no idea what he’s done, frowning when Foggy stands up and grabs his bag. “Okay, I’ll just go talk to her then.”

“Foggy—” Matt starts, even though he doesn’t know what to say. Foggy just keeps walking.

He’s not sure he did the right thing.

*

Foggy comes back smelling like really nice perfume a few nights later and it makes Matt want to pin him down and fuck him. It’s the most explicit and urgent thing he’s felt since they started this; he wants Foggy underneath him, squirming on the floor.

“Take a shower,” he says, without raising his head.

“. . .okay,” Foggy says, after a moment. They haven’t been distinguishing when Matt can or can’t tell him what to do, lately. Matt doesn’t want to take advantage of it, but he also can’t stand the thought of smelling someone else on Foggy all night.

Foggy doesn’t say anything else before he leaves to go to the bathroom.

When he comes back, he asks, “Anything else?”

“. . .how was your date?” Matt asks, as nice as he can, trying to pretend like he didn’t just passive-aggressively order him around.

“Good,” Foggy says. “Or—fine. Marci’s mean, you know? But funny.”

“And hot,” Matt says.

“How do you know?”

“You’ve been telling me how hot she is for years,” Matt says.

“Oh, right.” Foggy shuffles his feet a little before he goes to sit next to Matt on his bed, keeping some space between them. “It was a date, you know? Kind of scary, kind of fun—we got tipsy to get over the awkward part, we split the check, she invited me back to her place. Usual date-like stuff.”

“You didn’t go?” Matt asks.

“I didn’t,” Foggy says, lightly. “What kind of girl do you think I am, Murdock?”

“The kind who puts out on the first date?” Matt asks, smiling.

“ _Wow_ ,” Foggy says. “Offense.”

“Are you going to go out with her again?”

“I shrugged,” Foggy says, after a moment. “Maybe. Unless I have a good reason not to.”

Matt can think of one, but he’s been worrying about taking advantage—about Foggy staying with him because of what they’ve been doing even though he wants someone else.

Also, he’s a goddamn coward.

*

Foggy goes on two more dates with Marci without sleeping with her, and Matt doesn’t do anything about it until they’re at a party together and he can’t help himself. Marci’s been murmuring dirty things in Foggy’s ear for the last five minutes while Matt sits three feet away from them digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand, feeling wild. She’s talking about taking Foggy back to her room when Matt stands up abruptly, smiling fiercely when Foggy makes a questioning noise, turning to him.

“Come outside with me,” he says.

“Oh,” Foggy says. “Uhm—sure.”

“Seriously?” Marci asks, laughing—probably because Matt’s too drunk to control his facial expressions at all, and he really doesn’t _like_ her right now, even though he’s normally fine with Marci. It’s not fair and he knows it—Foggy can flirt with anybody that he wants, even if it’s not Matt.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Foggy says, getting up to take Matt’s arm, leading him through the crowd until they’re standing on the lawn outside, when he lets go of him and says, without much heat in his voice, “What the hell, Murdock?”

“I—I’m not sure why I did that,” Matt says. It’s not completely a lie. He doesn’t know what to do now that it’s happened.

“Is it because she wasn’t flirting with _you_?” Foggy asks. “Because about 1 in 100 people will gravitate towards me, buddy, I know it’s hard to believe but the math adds up.”

“It’s not that,” Matt says. “It’s—uh—”

“It’s what?” Foggy asks.

“It’s because _she_ was flirting with _you_ ,” Matt says.

“That sounds like the same thing.”

“I—I don’t want you to leave with her,” Matt says, because that, at least, is honest. “I don’t want you to leave with anyone else.”

“. . .you mean, with anyone but you?” Foggy asks, voice suddenly so soft, heartbeat nervous and quick.

“Kiss me,” Matt says, impulsively.

“Is that an order?” Foggy asks, laughing. His voice is shaking, but he’s trying to hide it.

“Yes—I mean, only if you want it to be,” Matt says, shaking his head, stepping forward to rest his hands lightly on Foggy’s shoulders. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but— _kiss_ me.”

Foggy hesitates noticeably and Matt almost takes it back, but then he feels gentle fingers on his cheek and Foggy’s leaning in to press his lips to Matt’s softly. Matt shuts his eyes, sighing out when Foggy steps back.

“Tell me what to do next,” Foggy says.

Matt slides fingers into Foggy’s hair and pulls him into another kiss, a little longer, Foggy’s bottom lip between Matt’s teeth.

“Choose me,” he says.

“Matty,” Foggy says, laughing. “I didn’t know I had a _choice_.”

Foggy doesn’t kiss him first, but he melts into it when Matt kisses him, wraps his arms around Matt and murmurs his name between kisses, sounds desperate and earnest and sweet.

“You’re coming home with me,” Matt says, resting their foreheads together.

“Yes, sir,” Foggy says—it’s always been a joke but, this time, it almost sounds like he means it and it goes straight to Matt’s dick. He kisses Foggy hard one more time before tugging him along, towards the sidewalk.

They don’t talk for a few minutes as they walk, almost nervously, and then Matt asks, “Do you want to sleep with me?”

“Like—on your bed?” Foggy asks.

“Or over your desk,” Matt says, grinning. “Or the floor. A shower stall. I’m really not picky.”

“Oh, _sleep_ with you,” Foggy says. “Yes, I want that. Did I not kiss you well enough back there? I feel like you should’ve just known already.”

“You kissed me just fine,” Matt says. “There are just other things I’m interested in you kissing.”

“You can just say that you want me to suck your dick, pal,” Foggy says, sounding like he’s enjoying himself, swinging their arms.

“I thought I was _sir_ ,” Matt says, and Foggy’s heart speeds up just a little more.

“Do you want me to suck your dick, sir?” he asks, still joking but there’s layers and layers underneath it that makes him want to take Foggy’s mouth right here, right now, in the middle of the campus and in full sight of everyone. That’s the kind of fantasy that he’s got to keep locked in place, though.

“I want you to do a lot of things,” Matt says, letting his voice go dark. “Let’s go faster.”

They rush back, and Foggy’s breathless and laughing when they finally stumble into their room and Matt pulls him into his arms and holds him tightly.

“Matty,” Foggy whines, while Matt noses at his neck and breathes him in, “Matt, god, I’ll—I’ll do anything you tell me to do, buddy.”

“Kiss me,” Matt says, again, knowing that he should maybe stop and talk about what he just said but Foggy’s quick to push forward and do just that, getting his fingers in Matt’s hair and waiting for Matt to lick into his mouth before he goes further. He’s sweet and pliant underneath Matt’s fingers, moving where Matt wants him, until he’s pressed up against the door and Matt can cover Foggy’s body with his own.

“What else?” Foggy asks, turning his face away to catch his breath.

“Whatever you want,” Matt says.

“Is _that_ an order?” Foggy asks, then, after Matt nods, he kisses him one more time and says, “I want you in my bed.”

“Ask me for it,” Matt says, smiling when Foggy shudders under his fingers.

“Please,” Foggy says, genuinely. “Matt, _please,_ I need you.”

Matt cups his face to press a long, lingering kiss to his mouth before he lets go of him entirely, taking a step back while Foggy almost slips down to the ground on shaky legs. Matt kind of wants to brag about that, but he’s got a singular purpose right now—“Take your clothes off,” he says.

Foggy follows the order as soon as the last word leaves Matt’s mouth, stripping out of his shirt and tossing it onto his bed, pushing down his jeans and boxers and stepping out of them. Matt steps forward to run just his fingertips down Foggy’s arm, over the soft curve of his stomach, glancing off his half-hard dick so Foggy whimpers.

“Matt,” he says.

“You have to tell me if you don’t want something,” Matt says, fingers circling the base of Foggy’s dick, squeezing lightly. He’s pretty sure he can just touch Foggy the way he likes to touch himself—denying and denying until he can’t help but push forward. “That’s an order.”

“Okay,” Foggy says. “I will, I promise.”

Matt draws his fingers up slowly before he lets go of Foggy entirely, feeling the way that his erection bobs, already harder.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he says.

“This or you?” Foggy asks.

“. . .me,” Matt says, almost embarrassed by how much he wants that. “Tell me how much you want _me_.”

“I wanted this before we started this—weird-ass relationship,” Foggy says. “I’ve wanted you since about five seconds after you walked into my life, and I always felt like such a creep but then—I thought you were getting off on telling me what to do and it felt like my whole world shifted towards you.”

“Christ,” Matt whispers, cupping Foggy’s face in one hand.

“Too much?” Foggy asks, weakly.

“No,” Matt says, pressing a kiss to his mouth, nudging their noses together. “No, I—I know exactly what you mean.”

“I want you so much that I can barely stand it sometimes,” Foggy says. “Just—touch me, please, touch me.”

“Shh,” Matt laughs out. “I’ve got you.”

He pulls Foggy into a long, extravagant kiss, practically dipping him, before he backs him up and pushes him lightly onto his bed. Foggy falls with a laugh, reaching up for Matt at the same time as Matt’s crawling on top of him.

“Finally,” Foggy says. “I’ve been waiting for you to just—break and tell me to bend over for you, honestly.”

“I thought about it,” Matt says, covering Foggy’s body with his before he slips a hand between him to circle Foggy’s dick again. “Thought about telling you to suck me off, to—to spread your ass for me. I’ve never even _kissed_ another guy before.”

“Me, either,” Foggy says. “I really like it, though.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, smiling down at him. “Me, too.”

They kiss until Foggy’s panting against his mouth, pulling back enough to say, “Tell me what to do, Matty.”

Matt kisses him one more time, takes his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs lightly before he sits up, cupping Foggy’s face in one hand.

“I want your mouth,” he says. “I—I want you on your knees.”

Foggy presses his smile to Matt’s cheek.

“Yes, sir,” he whispers, happily, into Matt’s ear.

*

They have a cursory talk about what exactly this is—Matt ordering him around, Foggy on his knees, the punishments—and read through a few websites about BDSM and dominants and submissives. Not long into it, Foggy abruptly shuts his laptop and pushes it to the end of the bed, saying, “Can we just—not do this? I don’t want to change anything. I like the sex bubble we are currently in, I don’t think we need rules and—commandments and stuff.”

“The sex bubble?” Matt asks, pulling him in to kiss him on the temple.

“The bubble of sex,” Foggy says. “Don’t pop it.”

“I’ll try not to,” Matt promises. “Did you see anything you liked, though?”

Foggy makes a contemplative noise.

“A few things,” he says, sliding hands up Matt’s thighs to push them apart and sprawl out between them, rubbing his face against the erection Matt’s had for at least an hour.

They use their sparse free time to experiment until they figure out what works for them, and what works for them is Foggy tied to Matt’s bed for hours, even while Matt’s not there. It’s Foggy waiting on his knees when he doesn’t have class and pulling Matt in to suck him off as soon as he comes home, taking it all at once and hollowing his cheeks around Matt’s dick so Matt gets hard surrounded by wetness and heat.

It’s Foggy sleeping on the foot of Matt’s bed or the bare floor beside him or in Matt’s arms—and Matt picking his food when they eat together, his clothes by touch alone.

Neither of them are completely sure that this kind of thing is supposed to be constant, to be their whole lives, but Matt’s sure that they don’t want to think too hard about it. It works. They’re both happy and doing well in their classes and—it _works_.

*

One night, when they celebrate the start of the weekend by tying Foggy’s hands behind his back, face and knees on the cold floor and ass in the air. Foggy kisses his feet and Matt fucks him twice, leaving him on the floor until he’s ready for the next one, telling Foggy to be good and keep quiet so he can study.

After it’s over and Foggy’s full of his come, sprawled out on his stomach with Matt smoothing a hand up and down his back, Matt asks, softly, “You’re getting everything you need out of this, right?”

Foggy makes a satisfied noise.

“I’m smiling,” he murmurs, yawning. “I get you, don’t I? Don’t need anything else.”

Matt’s breath catches and Foggy’s heart races. He sits up slowly.

“That was too much, wasn’t it?” he asks. “I just—”

Matt interrupts him by putting a hand over his mouth, almost immediately replacing it with a kiss.

“I _love_ you,” he says, fervently. He’s wanted to say it for awhile—has felt it for even longer, before they ever kissed. This seems like as good a time as any.

“Oh, Matty,” Foggy breathes, reaching for him and pulling him into a hug, hiding his face in Matt’s neck before he says, wet and muffled, “I love you, too. I _love_ you.”

Matt laughs softly, holding him tight. Part of him can’t believe it, can’t believe that’s he got any of this, but they’re both here and Foggy’s body is warm against him and he’s going to fuck him one more time before the day’s over.

Foggy’s his.

He doesn’t need anything else.

 

* * *

  **Avocados at Law**

* * *

 

The night after they sign the lease for their office, they eat takeout in bed and get drunk on cheap wine. Neither of them can stop laughing, touching each other playfully and stealing kisses until they move the containers off the bed and Matt pins Foggy to the mattress to kiss him deeply.

“Feels like we’re getting married,” Matt murmurs, smiling against Foggy’s mouth.

“That makes this the honeymoon,” Foggy says, tracing his fingers through Matt’s hair. “We better make it count.”

“I’m gonna tie you up,” Matt says. “That seems symbolic.”

“The leap from marriage to bondage is surprisingly short,” Foggy says, stretching out.

Matt presses a firm kiss to his forehead before he gets to his feet, saying, “Get on your knees and spread your legs— _wide_.”

“Yes, sir,” Foggy says, sounding like he’s smiling. “Hey—can I say something before we get too deep into this?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Matt says, already on his knees and pulling a box out from underneath the bed to dig through it for rope. He lifts his head so Foggy can see his face, listens curiously while Foggy takes a couple of breaths before he finally starts to speak.

“I know that we can barely afford rent and that this is going to be really hard, but—I wanted you to know that nothing has ever felt more right,” Foggy says, earnestly, heart steady and strong. “You and me, everything we are—it’s _right_ , Matt.”

Matt sighs out a shaky breath and climbs back up onto the bed, sitting the rope down before he kneels in front of Foggy to cup his face and kiss his mouth, the bridge of his nose, both delicate fluttering eyelids.

“It _is_ right,” he says, softly. It’s the only thing that’s ever felt normal in Matt’s life, really, even though he’s got Foggy tied up and begging and kissing his feet. It’s— _right_. “I feel it, too.”

“Oh—okay, I know I’m not the one giving orders, but I need you to go ahead and fuck me up before I start crying on you,” Foggy says, quickly, and Matt kisses him one more time before getting ready to do just that.

* * *

**Nelson vs. Murdock**

* * *

 

“Why would you not trust me with this?” Foggy asks. His voice is more sad than angry now and Matt just wants to hold him, tell him that he’s sorry and that he’ll fix it and that they’ll be okay because—because they _have to_ be okay.

“You’d be in danger,” he says. “I can’t risk you.”

“. . . _fuck_ ,” Foggy breathes. “I thought I was being paranoid thinking that you’d eventually stop taking me seriously because I like being on my knees for you, but I guess not.”

“ _What_?” Matt asks, starting to sit up and groaning when his stitches pull.

“Oh my god, sit down before you bleed out again,” Foggy says. “I’m saying that—that you actually think I’ll take that bullshit excuse and you kept me in the dark about all of this and you don’t—what, do you not think I could handle it? I’m not a _child_ , Murdock, you don’t have to shield me from your terrible choices.”

“I know that, I take you seriously, I just— _god_. I don’t know what to say,” Matt says, because his head is spinning, because he hoped this night would never happen and he doesn’t know what to do now that it has.

“Right,” Foggy says, arms dropping to his sides. “Okay, I think you’re officially fine to survive on your own assuming you don’t go chasing ninjas again, I’ll just get out of your hair.”

“ _Foggy_.”

“We’re not even married, Matt,” Foggy says, even though he was halfway across the room, turning back around and pacing a few steps forward. “Did you even think about what would happen if you got caught? How I’ll have to testify? Did you think about me _at all_?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did,” Matt groans, deciding to keep trying to be honest even though it’s mostly just been painful. “I—I never told you because I thought you’d _leave_ and I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t risk you getting hurt and I couldn’t risk you hating me because I _need_ you.”

“That’s not thinking about me, Matt,” Foggy says, sobbing out a laugh, maybe crying again. “That’s thinking about _yourself_. I need—I need to get out of here, just leave me alone for awhile.”

“Foggy, _wait_ ,” Matt says, terrified at the sound of receding footsteps, lurching forward and biting back a yell. “Foggy, please, I’ll—I’ll marry you and I’ll fix everything, _please_.”

The footsteps stop and Foggy’s heart is too loud.

“Tell me you didn’t just propose to me to get me to stay,” Foggy says, slowly, “ _Tell_ me you didn’t do that—because that would break my fucking heart, Matt.”

“. . .I’m sorry,” Matt says, hoarsely.

Foggy’s still for a long moment before he’s walking out and shutting the door behind him. Matt buries his wet face in his hands and listens to his footsteps all the way down the block.

*

Later on, after they take down Fisk, Foggy sort of forgives him and they circle each other, but it’s like Foggy’s curled in on himself and he doesn’t want Matt to help this time. They haven’t broken up, but they’re not together—not really.

“You’re too stressed out,” Matt says, after Foggy drops the stack of bills he’s been sorting and groans, his heart racing. “I can _help._ You know I can.”

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy says, but he just turns away and walks into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving Matt to stand there wondering if he’s even allowed to follow.

Eventually, Foggy asks for it, turns over to wake Matt up in the middle of the night and say, “I can’t sleep, I—I need you.”

It’s the most beautiful thing that Matt’s heard in awhile, even though Foggy’s hurting; he feels bad about liking it so much.

“Hands above your head,” Matt says, yawning and sitting up. “Hold onto the headboard.”

Foggy obeys wordlessly, but he makes a desperate, cut-off noise when Matt praises him for it. He spends half an hour running his fingernails down Foggy’s chest and thighs, lightly before he digs in and scratches, enough to leave a mark but not draw blood. Foggy moans and writhes through it, never letting go of the headboard, not even when Matt jerks him off roughly and he comes with a hoarse cry.

After that, things seem to settle in a little. It’s not perfect, but it’s sustainable, at least. If Foggy stays, Matt will take whatever he can get.

 

* * *

**After the end of Nelson & Murdock**

* * *

 

“I need you to tell me what to do,” Foggy says, in Matt’s doorway. He sounds kind of wrecked, voice strained and cracking, his whole body tensed up. Matt wants to touch him, but he’s kind of afraid that he’ll shatter.

“Come in,” Matt says, stepping aside to let Foggy walk in past him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Foggy says, immediately. “It’s been—half a _year_ , Matt—why can’t I stop _thinking_ about you all the damn time?”

“I—I don’t know,” Matt says, genuinely.

Six months, more or less, since the Castle case and Elektra and their firm shutting down and Foggy finally listening when Matt tells him that he’s better off without him. Matt wasn’t expecting Foggy to be the one to give in first; he hadn’t been expecting him to give in at _all_.

Foggy takes a shuddering breath before he moves to stand in front of Matt and, after a few moments of looking at him, drop down to his knees in front of him.

“Tell me what to _do_ ,” he whispers. Matt drops a hand down to trace fingers through Foggy’s hair. It’s shorter and that makes him ache for some reason—so does Foggy pushing up into the touch and almost sounding relieved.

“Get up,” Matt says, firmly, tugging on Foggy’s hair. Foggy gets up, and he lets himself be pulled into a hug, leaving his arms at his sides until Matt says, “Come on, Fog.” He holds him tighter when Foggy finally wraps his arms around him.

“I thought I could get over this,” Foggy says, muffled in Matt’s shoulder. “I—thought I didn’t _need_ this, but—god, Murdock, you live in my head and I can’t kick you out.”

“I didn’t know that,” Matt says. “I really thought—I thought you were _done_ with me. You _should_ be done with me.”

“I know,” Foggy says, taking a deep breath, shaky when he lets it out. “I know, but I’m not. I don’t know how to not have you in my life.”

He starts to back away but Matt holds on just to see if Foggy gives in.

He does.

“I can leave,” Foggy says.

“You’re gonna sleep in my bed,” Matt says, ignoring him. “Either with me or at the foot of it. It’s up to you.”

Memories of Foggy at twenty-three curled up in a tight ball at the bottom of his shitty twin bed with his head resting on Matt’s feet makes his stomach lurch a little, like he was pulled into one direction too quickly. Foggy did it for a while after they moved out of the dorms, got a shitty apartment with a full-sized bed that took up the whole bedroom, but Matt wanted him to sleep next to him eventually and Foggy seemed happy to oblige.

Now, Foggy gasps softly, takes a second to calm his breathing.

“I might not want to be here in the morning,” he says, eventually.

“It’s up to you,” Matt says. If he thought it would make a difference, he’d tell Foggy he had to stay. Tell Foggy to make him breakfast, to let Matt feed it to him, to listen while Matt pets his hair and explains exactly why Foggy shouldn’t be around him.

He gets into bed first to wait for Foggy, listening while Foggy searches through Matt’s drawers for something to wear. He hesitates by the bed for a long time before he crawls to curl up at Matt’s feet.

“Thanks,” Foggy says, soft, in the ensuing silence. “For letting me stay.”

Matt worries at his lower lip.

“Thanks for staying,” he says, because even though Foggy shouldn’t be here at all, Matt still _wants_ him. He never stopped wanting him.

Foggy shifts so the sole of Matt’s foot presses lightly against his forehead through the sheets then shifts away again. He thought about offering Foggy a blanket, a pillow, but Foggy would never take them before.

He falls asleep sometime after Foggy does.

*

“I’m officially too old to sleep like that,” Foggy says, when Matt walks out and smiles at him, tentatively. “My back is killing me.”  

“Did it help?” Matt asks, tries not to let it sound hopeful as he crosses the room to the kitchen.

“. . .yeah,” Foggy says, huffing out a laugh. “I feel less like my heart’s trying to escape through my mouth.”

“Gross,” Matt says, starting a pot of coffee, stronger than he takes it because he knows it’ll make Foggy feel better, too. He wishes he had cream—anything sweet.

“It was,” Foggy says. “It was gross. I’m sorry for vomiting my emotions on you.”

“It’s okay,” Matt says.

“It’s really not,” Foggy says, sighing. “I don’t know how I’m going to leave without—doing this again. _I’m_ the codependent one. I thought it was both of us but it turns out, nope, it’s all me.”

“Do you have any idea how much time I’ve spent sitting on your fire escape?” Matt asks. Foggy’s breath catches before he suddenly bursts out laughing, a full-on belly laugh that makes Matt grin, surprised. He thought Foggy might be mad.

“I thought you were a stray cat,” Foggy gasps.

“I kind of felt like one,” Matt says.

Foggy’s still laughing, and Matt leaves the coffee brewing to walk over to squeeze one of his shoulders and feel the laughter reverberate through him, feel it go still after a few moments while Foggy tips his face up towards him and waits.

“Turn around,” Matt says, still smiling.

“Uhm, like—?” Foggy asks, turning so he’s kneeling on the couch, chest pressed up against the back of it.

“Mmm hmm,” he says, kneeling behind Foggy, straddling him with a leg to either side of his and his fingers digging into Foggy’s arm lightly to steady himself. Foggy’s heart might actually skip, but he just leans back enough that Matt’s chest is pressed against him.

“Matty,” he murmurs.

“I know,” Matt says, soothingly, sitting up enough to massage Foggy’s shoulders, eventually pushing him forward so he bends over the back of the couch and Matt can dig into the knots in his back, unable to pretend like he’s not turned on by the noises that Foggy’s making, by how Foggy _smells_ while he’s writhing underneath Matt. He’s missed that—for a _long_ time.

So much for telling Foggy to get away again. It seems a lot less important than pinning him down, right now.

“We shouldn’t fuck,” Foggy says, barely sounding like he means it.

“I didn’t say anything about fucking,” Matt says.

“I’m rolling my eyes,” Foggy says, moaning when Matt presses his thumb into just the right place. “ _You’re_ panting in my ear.”

Matt makes a non-committal noise, but he also rolls his hips forward shamelessly, against Foggy’s ass.

“I don’t want to say no,” Foggy says, voice strained—he’s not lying—“I’m saying no, though. I’ll never leave if we start that again.”

“Oh,” Matt says, letting his hands rest on Foggy’s back for a moment before he stands up. “You can say no. It’s fine.”

“I seriously would _love_ to have you inside me right now, though,” Foggy says.

“You can say no but you can’t be a tease,” Matt says.

“Why, you gonna punish me?” Foggy asks, then winces. “Sorry, I think my brain’s reverted back to—well, a few months ago. I should maybe go before I make more of an ass of myself, if that’s even possible.”

“Stay,” Matt says, softly, when Foggy stands up. Foggy sounds like the air was knocked out of him for a moment.

“Is that an order?” he asks.

“No,” Matt says. “I’m asking you. Please stay.”

“Why?” Foggy asks.

“I have no—goddamn clue,” Matt says, smiling helplessly, a knot in his throat. “You shouldn’t bother with me, it’s too dangerous, but—just give me one more day.”

“. . .if I stay, I don’t want to have to think,” Foggy says.

Their relationship was practically seamless when it worked, basically perfect, so Matt doesn’t need to know anything more than that. Foggy says he doesn’t want to think—that he wants Matt to push him around—that he can’t be a person that day. And Matt does what he can and asks for what he needs, too, when he can—gives Foggy an order out of the blue because hearing him obey it soothes something under Matt’s skin, tells Foggy to be quiet like a question that Foggy answers by being soft.

“Take your clothes off,” he says.

“We’re not—” Foggy starts, sounding frustrated.

“No sex,” Matt promises, firmly. “Take your clothes off and kneel.”

Foggy makes a noise that’s crossed with relief and nerves, immediately stripping and moving to his knees at Matt’s feet. Matt rests a hand on his head just because Foggy will let him, scratching lightly at his scalp and saying, “You’re gonna take a bath—a _hot_ one—and I’ll stay with you.”

“A bath?” Foggy asks, skeptically, and Matt smiles down at him.

“I’ll keep my hands above your waist if you really want me to,” he promises, curling his fingers in Foggy’s hair now and pulling lightly. “Come on.”

Matt has to bend a little to make sure he’s not really hurting Foggy, but Foggy goes willingly, crawls on his hands and knees even though Matt can hear that they’re aching. In the bathroom, Matt says, “Rest your forehead on the tile,” and listens to the sound of Foggy stretching out first, reaches down to smooth a hand down his spine as Foggy moves forward.

“Stay just like that,” Matt says, and Foggy makes a soft assenting noise, already sounding kind of drugged. He shifts and moves while Matt starts getting a bath ready, but he stays in that position.

“When’s the last time you cleaned down here?” Foggy jokes, softly, around a yawn.

Matt feels a dumb thrill when he says, “Kiss it.”

Foggy makes a huffing noise, like he’s almost laughing, but Matt hears him press his lips to the tile and has to take a moment to compose himself. He didn’t think Foggy would actually _do_ it.

“Seriously, though,” Foggy says.

“Yesterday morning,” Matt says, dipping fingers into the water to feel how hot it is as he adds, casually, “You’re being good.”

“Yeah?” Foggy asks. Startled, maybe. It’s not been so long since they did this, but long enough that it doesn’t quite fit yet.

“Mmm hmm,” he says, non-committal. “Good boy.”

Foggy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, forehead pressing against the tile, and Matt stands beside him and pets his hair with wet fingers until the bath’s full and stinging hot. He tugs on Foggy’s hair lightly, says, “Get in.”

He listens as Foggy stands up, brushes past Matt and turns the faucet off before dipping his foot in and hissing.

“You can take it,” Matt says, immediately. “Keep going.”

Foggy hesitates noticeably but then he’s climbing into the bath, making soft pained noises until he’s sitting down in it, slipping backwards slowly and sighing, eventually, moving deep enough that he’s holding his breath underwater for a few long seconds while Matt shuts his eyes and listens to the echo of him.

When Foggy surfaces, he says, “This feels nice.”

“I know how to take care of you,” Matt says.

“You’re good at it when you want to be,” Foggy says, voice heavy. “You’re—being good, too. If I can say that.”

“You can say whatever you want,” Matt says, sitting on the edge of the tub and sliding his fingers from the top of Foggy’s head to the middle of his back, pressing lightly into his spine. “Sit up and start breathing deep.”

Foggy starts to draw in deep breaths and let them out slowly, chest rising and falling and slowly shifting the water around him, while Matt rubs body wash into a soft washcloth and starts to slowly rub it over Foggy’s shoulders and down his back.

“You really shouldn’t come back after today,” Matt says, softly. “You made the right choice before. I can—I can keep you safer this way.”

Foggy doesn’t say anything, but he stiffens underneath Matt’s touch.

“That’s the most important thing,” Matt continues. “To me.”

“C’mon, Matty,” Foggy says, scoffing, sitting back against the bathtub, drawing his knees up.

“What?” Matt asks.

“I haven’t been the most important thing to you in a while,” Foggy says, voice dropping when he adds, “if I ever was.”  

“You were,” Matt says, feeling caught in the act somehow, stumbling over his words. “I know I’ve let a lot of shit come between us, and I know I—I haven’t been there, but—you’ve _always_ been—”

“Until you hear a siren,” Foggy says, “or your ex fucking—back-flips back into your life.”

“Elektra’s gone,” Matt says, firmly. “We weren’t getting back together. I wouldn’t pick anyone over you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Foggy says, then audibly winces. “God, I didn’t—this is why I didn’t want to think. I’m—I don’t know if I’m sorry, but I’m _very_ naked right now and I just want to do what you say for awhile so my brain doesn’t feel like it’s on fire. Can we just keep it simple?”

“We’ve never been simple,” Matt says, but he wets the washcloth again and smooths it down Foggy’s chest, feeling a soft pang at the sound that Foggy makes when it drags over his nipples.

They stay quiet, and Foggy keeps breathing deeply while Matt touches every part of him.

Eventually, Matt says, “Lean forward,” and guides Foggy with a hand on the back of his neck until he’s bent down, head ducked. Matt turns on the showerhead and soaks Foggy’s hair, careful of his face, putting it back so he can sit next to Foggy again and massage shampoo into his hair while Foggy makes soft, involuntary pleased noises.

After he’s washed Foggy’s hair, Foggy asks, quietly, “Can I shower off? As much as I liked this—and I _did—_ baths are kind of disgusting.”

Matt smiles, smoothing his hand over Foggy’s hair one more time.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Come back to the living room when you’re done.”

*

By the time Foggy comes back, Matt’s made popcorn and set up his laptop on the coffee table. He has to calm himself down when he realizes that he’s moving on his hands and knees, stopping to kneel in front of where Matt’s sitting.

“Good boy,” Matt says, reaching out to stroke his hair gently. “Pick a movie.”

“Oh,” Foggy says, sounding surprised but reaching out to pull the laptop closer. “Okay.”

“Disappointed?” Matt asks.

“No, I just figured you had something kinkier in mind,” Foggy says.

“I could make it kinkier,” Matt says, smiling, “but I want to help you relax and—I want you in my lap.”

“. . .will you feed me?” Foggy asks, after a moment, kind of softly.

“Yeah, Fog. I’ll feed you. C’mere.”

Foggy starts the movie and stands up to crawl onto the couch and rest his head in Matt’s lap, curled up on his side. Matt runs a hand from his shoulder down to his hip, squeezing it lightly before he rests it on Foggy’s head instead.

“’s The Princess Bride,” Foggy murmurs, rubbing his cheek against Matt’s leg, possibly unconsciously.

“Good choice,” Matt says, petting him.

He feeds Foggy popcorn piece by piece and tries to ignore how hard he’s getting just from having this again, Foggy naked in his lap, describing the movie softly. About half an hour in, Matt feels Foggy get kind of stiff and curls his fingers in his hair, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Foggy’s voice is bitter and hoarse. “I really want to suck your dick, Matty.”

“Are you—are you sure?” Matt asks.

“I miss you,” Foggy says, sitting up abruptly, making a frustrated noise. “I don’t want to miss you and I don’t want to _love you_ and—I can’t stop _wanting_ you.”

That hurts more than Matt’s hurt in a while, several broken ribs and all, but it’s smart. Foggy shouldn’t love him. Matt’s hurt him too much, too.

“But you do,” Matt says, because he wants to hear it, anyway.

“Yeah, and you cuddling and petting me is making me remember what life was like before I realized exactly how much shit you cared about more than me,” Foggy says, shakily. “Anyway, I changed my mind. If this is our only day together, I want you to fuck me.”

“. . .you’re _sure_?”

“Matt, I’ll beg all you want after you say yes, but don’t make me beg for this.”  

Matt listens to Foggy’s heart and his body before he turns to get his fingers in Foggy’s hair again and tug him down by it, so Foggy yelps and sprawls out on his stomach on the couch and lets his face be shoved up against Matt’s crotch.

“Yeah,” he breathes, kissing it. “Perfect.”

Matt pushes down hard with his hand cupping the back of Foggy’s head before he says, “Take my dick out.”

Foggy gets up just enough to slide fingers under Matt’s waistband and tug it down, licking his lips when Matt’s erection springs up and brushes wet against his face.

“Can I?” he asks. Matt doesn’t answer and Foggy stumbles over his words as he says, “Sorry, god—please? Can I please suck you off?”

“Good boy,” Matt says, too emotional already, ruffling Foggy’s hair. “Go ahead.”

Foggy takes as much as he can immediately, going down on Matt’s dick until it hits the back of his throat, and Matt tips his head back and groans. He curves his hand around the back of Foggy’s head, feels the way that Foggy bobs up and down quickly, choking every time.

“God, baby, you’re so good,” he says, practically panting and not even caring what Foggy might think about him calling him that again. He missed this, missed the low whine that Foggy makes when he pushes his head down gently and asks, “Can you take it all?”

Foggy makes an affirmative noise and pushes up a little to rub his head against Matt’s hand, giving him permission to guide Foggy’s head down while he chokes, helping him push past it until Foggy’s face is buried in his lap.

“Shit,” Matt breathes. “Fog, Foggy, _shit_.”

He keeps Foggy down until he starts to squirm, gasping for air when he sits up and pressing his face into Matt’s t-shirt for a moment before he coughs softly and asks, “Can I get on my knees instead? Please?”

“Go ahead,” Matt says.

Foggy’s being sweet on purpose, he thinks—pressing kisses to Matt’s knees before he pushes them open to get closer to him, nuzzling against his dick, hot breath and wet lips brushing against it when he asks, “Will you fuck my face? Not my throat, because I’m in court tomorrow and won’t sound very authoritative, but—I want you to fuck me, please.”

Matt wraps his fingers around his dick to rub it over Foggy’s face, because it makes Foggy’s heart race and his skin flush.

“Go to the center of the room,” he says.

Foggy crawls over immediately and Matt follows after a full minute of letting him kneel silently, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Foggy’s head. He can tell from the small huffs of breath that Foggy’s got his mouth open and ready, brushes his fingers over his face to feel his tongue sticking out.

“ _Good_ boy,” he says, warmly, and he can feel Foggy’s smile.

*

One day turns into a full weekend of desperate marathon sex and Matt soaking in as much of Foggy as he can, kissing him when Foggy will let him, petting him and stroking his skin self-indulgently.

Sunday morning, after Matt comes back from Mass and comes on Foggy’s face and jerks Foggy off slowly while he spanks him with one hand, Foggy goes to take a long shower that Matt isn’t allowed to join him in. They didn’t exactly get clean when they tried it yesterday.

When he comes back, Foggy kneels gingerly at Matt’s feet where he’s sitting on the couch, just far enough that Matt has to be the first one to touch him, cupping the back of Foggy’s head before he runs his fingers through his hair.

“You should grow it out again,” he says.

“I have to be professional now,” Foggy says. “I can’t grow it out to appease your hair pulling fetish.”

“ _My_ hair pulling fetish,” Matt repeats, laughing softly, tugging at Foggy’s hair to hear him moan.

“Our mutual fetish, maybe,” Foggy admits.

Matt gets him to bend over so he can press his lips to Matt’s toes, resting his cheek against his foot until Matt nudges him with it and he sits up again.

“You’re gonna stay down there all day,” Matt says, warmly.

“I’ve got errands to run,” Foggy says.

Matt thinks about it for a second before he says, “I’ll go with you.”

“You planning on subtly owning me out in public?”

“I don’t own you,” Matt says. They made that clear when this was more romantic, back in law school—there were limits and that was one of them.

“I wish you did sometimes,” Foggy says, then winces immediately, resting his forehead on Matt’s knees. “Pretend I didn’t just say something that intense. I just have—fantasies. Slightly fucked up fantasies.”

“Tell me about them,” Matt says, and Foggy lifts his head, doesn’t move at all when Matt brushes fingers across his eyebrows, down his cheek, thumb stroking the bridge of his nose and pressing lightly into his mouth before Foggy starts talking.

“It was mostly at Columbia,” he says, lifting up on his knees to stretch out his back and groaning softly. “I would just think about—being yours all of the time. In front of our friends, in—in _class_. Always in your hands.”

The thought makes Matt’s dick twitch in his jeans—and it’s not unfamiliar. Foggy told him a little bit about it back in law school, but Matt had the same fantasy.

“I used to think about making you crawl to class,” he says, softly, “and—keeping you under my desk to use your mouth for hours. Making you stay on your knees in the library and—and making you tell everyone who you belong to.”

“Wow,” Foggy says. “That’s—exhibitionistic.”

“If we’re talking about fucked up fantasies,” Matt says, shrugging. “There’s that. And—honestly, I thought about doing a lot of shit to you before we even kissed.”

“I thought about you ordering me to suck you off, like, two days into finals week when we started this shit. I wasn’t even sure I liked _guys_ then.” Foggy’s voice is exhausted but _fond_. Matt cups his cheek. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we, Murdock?”

“I missed you,” Matt says. “I missed _this_ but—mostly you.”

“But you think I shouldn’t be around you,” Foggy says.

“Yeah,” Matt says, laughing softly, “but I’m also a selfish piece of shit, so—here we are.”

Foggy turns his head to press a kiss to Matt’s palm. It’s so familiar that it’s like no time has passed at all, like they never stopped.

“I don’t know how to leave,” he says, without much heat, “but I have to, I think.”

“Your real life can have you back on Monday,” Matt says. “Let’s pretend we’re twenty three again.”

“You want to—what, drink shitty liquor and fuck in a public bathroom?” Foggy asks, sounding amused. “Or think about the future and have an anxiety attack?”

Matt thinks for a second before he pulls Foggy into his lap, happy when Foggy kisses him first, looping his arms around Matt’s neck.

“How about both?” he asks, breathlessly, grinning at Foggy when he pulls away.

They run errands all afternoon and get bottom shelf whiskey and grind against each other in a dingy grocery store bathroom, cleaning up with scratchy paper towels and sneaking out one at a time. It feels like the most teenage thing that Matt’s ever done.

That night, they get too drunk and have completely normal sex—Foggy underneath him, both of them breathing heavily and whispering each other’s name. They both cry, but that’s probably the whiskey.

“Are you leaving in the morning?” he asks, softly, when they’re both half asleep and tangled together in his sheets.

“I have to,” Foggy says. “Don’t I?”

“Right,” Matt says, because it’s true. “I guess.”

Foggy’s head is tucked neatly under his chin while he’s falling asleep and the feeling of being so close to him makes Matt realize that he hasn’t felt at home in months.

Foggy has to leave, though.

*

The next weekend, Foggy shows up at his doorstep already drunk with a full bottle of wine tucked under his arm and stumbles into Matt’s arms, huffing out a laugh.

“So, according to Marci,” Foggy says. “I can’t have sex with you without falling in love with you. What do you think about that?”

“I think you’ve had a few too many,” Matt says, but he carries Foggy’s weight, shuts the door behind them and gets Foggy to the couch. He leaves him there, going to the kitchen to pour a glass of water, and Foggy moves around roughly until he’s comfortable.

“I didn’t tell her that I was already in love with you,” Foggy says, almost conspiratorially.

“Still,” Matt says, coming back to hand him the glass of water, because it seems worth noting. Matt never stopped and he doesn’t think Foggy did, either.

“ _Still_ in love with you,” Foggy repeats, rolling his eyes and drinking half of it at once. “Anyway, I forgot why I thought coming here was a good idea, but I thought we could mess around and ignore our feelings some more.”

“I thought I only got one weekend with you,” Matt says.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Foggy says, voice dropping to a whisper when Matt sits down on the coffee table in front of him, “but I’m _kind of_ a slut for you. It’s a major theme in my life. Can’t get enough of that good ol’ Murdock charm. And by charm, I mean—”

“Whoa, hey,” Matt interrupts, laughing, reaching forward to rest his hands on both of Foggy’s knees. “You’re also very charming, but I’m not messing around with you when you’re this drunk.”

“. . .right, of course,” Foggy says, blinking, sounding genuinely sobered. “Shit, I’ve spent so much time trying to hate you that I forgot you’re—you’re actually a really good person, Matt. I’m sorry, I should go—this was stupid.”

“No,” Matt says, squeezing Foggy’s knees lightly, not letting go when he tries to get up. “Don’t move.”

Foggy’s heart is distracting. It always has been.

“Why?” he asks, and Matt answers him by standing up to press a kiss to the top of his head, ducking down to nuzzle into his neck.

“Follow me,” he says, softly, into his ear. “Crawl for me, baby.”

He lets go of Foggy and turns to take a few steps towards the bedroom, sighing softly in relief when he hears Foggy move to his knees and start to crawl towards him slowly. He murmurs, “Good boy,” and thinks too long about the way Foggy’s body reacts to it.

When they’re by Matt’s bed, he says, “Stand up,” and Foggy obeys immediately.

“I’m going to undress you,” Matt says, “but I’m not giving you what you want until the morning. If you’re not too hungover to live.”

“I drank a lot,” Foggy admits, weakly. “You don’t have to do this, Matt, I can just—“

Matt interrupts him with a kiss.

“Do you want me to tell you what to do?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” Foggy says, automatically, sounding dazed just from that.

“Then lift your arms up,” Matt says, and Foggy does, moves easily to let Matt take his clothes off for him until Foggy’s standing bare in front of him. Matt lets his fingers graze over his body, over his stomach and arms and back.

He kisses Foggy again, barely brushing their lips together. Foggy’s shaking.

“Do you want to fall asleep with me?” Matt asks.

“Yes, sir,” Foggy whispers.

“I’m not going to let you sleep at the foot of it,” he says, because if Foggy can be honest, then so can he, lack of booze aside. “Because I really want to hold you. Sometimes, I never want to stop.”

“I made you stop,” Foggy says, a little clearer. “Matt, did I make a mistake? How can I still love you this much?”

Matt wraps him up in his arms and kisses his temple gently and Foggy melts into it, circling his arms around Matt’s waist and resting his weight on him.

“I love you, too, you know,” he says, softly.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, swallowing hard. “I know you do. I just don’t know what to do and I don’t think you can tell me this time.”

“. . .stay with me tonight,” Matt says. “You can figure it out from there.”

Matt curls up around his back when Foggy lies down, pulling him close, wondering if he should memorize this feeling—if he won’t get to have it again.

“Shouldn’t you be out chasing down evildoers?” Foggy asks, eventually. “I thought evil didn’t rest.”

“It doesn’t,” Matt says, dryly, “but—I’m starting to figure out that I have to, sometimes.”

Foggy hums curiously but doesn’t say anything else, and Matt gets to feel him fall asleep in his arms, matching his breathing to the pace of Foggy’s heart.

*

When Matt wakes up, Foggy’s gone, but the apartment smells like coffee and pancakes. He stretches out before getting up to find Foggy moving around his kitchen quietly, making a surprised noise when he sees Matt.

“It’s still early,” he says. “I was going to wake you up when everything was ready.”

“My bed was cold,” Matt says, smiling. “You’re making me breakfast?”

“I thought it was the least I could do considering I got drunk and weird last night,” Foggy says. “Also, your coffee’s better than mine and I think it made at least half of my hangover disappear.”

“It’s good coffee,” Matt agrees, brushing past him to pour a cup, leaning against the counter and drinking it slowly while Foggy finishes cooking. “How’s the other half of your hangover?”

“Oh, excruciating, thanks for asking,” Foggy says. “If you ever take any advice from me, Murdock, let it be this one—do _not_ let Marci talk you into playing a drinking game.”

“I learned that in law school,” Matt says, grinning at him. “Where were you?”

“Probably unconscious,” Foggy says, faintly. “Anyway, everything hurts and I’m very aware that I’m not twenty-three anymore and—we should probably talk, right?”

“Probably.”

“Go sit,” Foggy says, touching his hand lightly before he hands him a plate.

“Yes, sir,” Matt says, smiling when Foggy huffs out a laugh.

“That’s definitely part of it,” he says. He cleans up a little bit while Matt starts eating before he joins him, stretching out under the table to kick Matt’s ankle gently. “So, I can’t stop coming back here. To you. I know I can’t.”

“Do you _want_ to stop?” Matt asks, hoping that he knows the answer.

“No,” Foggy says. “I want to be with you. I’ve always wanted to be with you.”

Matt reaches out a hand and Foggy takes it, lacing their fingers together.

“But?” he asks.

Foggy’s silent for a long time, but he squeezes Matt’s hand before he speaks.

“. . .I got _shot_ and you didn’t visit me in the hospital,” he says, softly. “Do you know how that felt?”

“I was there, I was listening to make sure you were okay,” Matt says, knowing that it’s a dumb excuse, that he didn’t go because he was afraid that Foggy would make him leave, “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.”

“I needed you there,” Foggy says. “Next time I get shot, you’ve got to be there, okay?”

“There’s _not_ going to be a next time,” Matt says.

“You knock on wood, Murdock,” Foggy says, tapping their joined hands lightly on the table, “because my danger quotient has gone up since I started lawyering for all the vigilantes in town. If I’m throwing my lot in with you again, it’ll just raise it by a couple of percentage points.”  

“. . .are you?” Matt asks, breath catching when he realizes what Foggy said.

“Throwing in my lot with you?” Foggy asks. “Yeah, I am. If you want me. I have some conditions about lying and bleeding on the furniture—and dying, definitely, you’re not allowed to do that— _oh_ —”

Foggy draws off with a laugh when Matt gets up and pulls him out of his chair to kiss him deeply, practically dipping him. He wraps his arms around Matt’s waist to steady himself when they stand upright again, resting his head on his shoulder for a moment before he leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

“If you lie to me about anything major, even if you think it’s for my own good, then I’m moving to a distant country and burning my passport,” he says. Matt grins at him.

“Okay,” he agrees.

“And _I_ get to propose,” Foggy says, moving his hands to Matt’s shoulders to shake him gently, “because you are very bad at it.”

“Okay,” Matt repeats, grinning harder, because Foggy wants to _marry_ him. “I’m going to make sure you don’t regret it, I promise.”

“I’m going to try to understand your hero thing more,” Foggy says. “I’ve seen what you can do, what other people are doing—I want to figure out how to be okay with it.”

Matt kisses him again, firmly.

“I love you,” he says, because he gets to say it.

“I love you, too,” Foggy says. “And I’m gonna keep loving you. Now, how do you feel about feeding me pancakes and calling me dirty things?”

“It seems appropriate,” Matt says, happily, slipping fingers into Foggy’s hair to tug down gently. “Get on your knees.”

Foggy takes Matt’s face in his hands first, presses a sweet kiss to his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” he whispers.

  


**Author's Note:**

> [You can follow me on Tumblr for scattered ficlets and lots of feelings.](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com)


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